


Decode

by benedictedcumberbatched



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictedcumberbatched/pseuds/benedictedcumberbatched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look back and forth in time on Sherlock and Molly's relationship. </p>
<p>Set to the song "Decode" by Paramore, as requested by itwasmycroftbbc on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decode

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Decode](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/43678) by Paramore. 



> As always, the characters don't belong to me. In addition the song, "Decode" also doesn't belong to me.

_How can I decide what's right?_

_When you're clouding up my mind_

_I can't win your losing fight all the time_

\--

_How can I ever own what's mine_

_When you're always taking sides_

_But you won't take away my pride_

_No not this time_

_Not this time_

\--

_Who did she think she was kidding_ she thought as her dancing hesitated for a moment, watching the tall figure make his way out and away from the reception. She saw him, she always saw him, even when he thought she didn’t. Tom had forgiven her for stabbing him with a plastic fork, although she would never admit that it felt really good to have done it.

She had tried; God knew she had tried so hard to move on, to find a nice man, to settle down with life. But life had thrown so many curveballs at her, starting with that night in the morgue. She knew his brother had pulled a few strings to keep her name out of it, to ensure she didn’t lose her job at Bart’s. It was him though, it was always him.

As much as she tried to move on, Sherlock Holmes never fully went away. He had, perhaps, been pushed to the back of her mind during those two years he was away, but he never fully disappeared. She could remember the day Tom had proposed to her, so sweet, innocent, a bit clumsy. And what had Molly’s first thought been? _Would Sherlock approve of him?_ She had brushed it off as she had brushed away a tear before saying yes.

She finished out the song before excusing herself as needing some fresh air for a moment. She hurried outside, looking around but not seeing Sherlock. “Sherlock?” she called out, hoping that even if she couldn’t see him, perhaps he could hear her. She wrapped her arms around herself, as she began to walk. She hesitated, spotting something moving ahead in the shadows of the night.

“Just were do you think you’re going?” she said louder as she approached him. She saw him stop, hesitate for a moment as if deciding whether to ignore her and keep walking, before turning around.

“Go back to your fiancée, Molly,” he said quietly, hands shoved into his pockets and not looking at her.

“Come back inside to your best friend’s wedding.”

Sherlock gave her a look, one she would have backed down from before. He sighed and shook his head.

“I’m going home. You should go back to Tom before he comes looking for you,” he said before turning and walking away.

Molly watched him go, a feeling of unease settling over her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a bubbling of guilt just below the surface. What did she have to feel guilty for?

\--

_How did we get here?_

_Well I used to know you so well_

_How did we get here?_

_Well I think I know_

\--

_“You do count. You’ve always counted, and I’ve always trusted you…”_

_“What do you need?”_

_“You.”_

_You…you…_ the words continued over and over as she stood in the kitchen of her flat. Two cups stood waiting while she waited for the kettle to get hot. It had been a few hours since Sherlock Holmes had died. At least that’s what the world believed. The plan had worked perfectly. He had landed on the pad just right, John had been delayed enough to give Sherlock’s network ample time to remove the crash pad and make it look like he had actually jumped and died.

She jumped as the kettle whistled and she switched off the heat, quickly preparing the tea and bringing it to her living room. Sherlock was curled up on the couch, wrapped protectively in a dressing gown. The low drone of the washing machine down the hall was reminding her that his Belstaff was currently, hopefully, getting blood removed from it.

“Reichenbach Hero, Sherlock Holmes, plunged to his death today from the roof of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital following accusations by actor, Richard Brook, that he was hired by Mr. Holmes to play criminal mastermind, James Moriarty. There is no word from Scotland Yard or Holmes’ associate, John Watson, on the matter.”

Molly reached over and took the remote from Sherlock’s hands and shut the telly off. She tossed the remote onto the table and sat on the arm of the couch. “Here,” she said quietly, holding out a cup. Sherlock turned and looked at her briefly, before taking the cup and murmuring his thanks. She couldn’t quite believe she had suggested her flat of all places for him to hide out after everything was said and done. It seemed like the thing to do, but now that he was actually there, she couldn’t think.

They sat in silence, the occasional slurping of their tea and the clattering of Sherlock’s belongings in the washer the only noise. She set her cup on the table once she was finished and looked over at him. “I-I’m going to turn in. Do you need anything?” she asked tentatively. She had already made up the spare bedroom for him if he decided to sleep. Sherlock just stayed silent.

Molly sighed before retreating down the hall to her room, leaving it cracked slightly for if he needed anything. She slipped under the covers and turned out her lamp. Laying there in the darkness, she let the events of the day wash over her. She couldn’t get the sound of John’s agonizing pleas out of her head; the dead look in Lestrade’s eyes when he came for himself haunted her. She just kept telling herself it was all for them and all for the man in her living room. She clamped her hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle her sudden sob. This was all too much, it really was. How did Sherlock expect her to lie to his friends? She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself enough to sleep.

She jumped slightly as she began to doze as the other side of the bed dipped down. A rush of cooler air hit the back of her legs as the covers were lifted. She remained still, not wanting to startle Sherlock too much. Who else could it be? She felt him settle, before the light pressure of Toby jumping back up onto the bed and settling at her feet returned. An arm slipped around her waist and pulled her back so she was curled into him. “Molly…” he said hoarsely.

“Mmm?” she hummed.

“Thank you.” She could feel his breath against the back of her neck and it sent shivers down her spine. She gingerly rest her hand over his and gave it a light squeeze.

“You’re welcome, Sherlock.” She got comfortable once more before allowing sleep to over take her.

\--

_The truth is hiding in your eyes_

_And its hanging on your tongue_

_Just boiling in my blood_

_But you think that I can't see_

_What kind of man that you are_

_If you're a man at all_

_Well I will figure this one out_

_On my own (I'm screaming "I love you so")_

_On my own (My thoughts you can't decode)_

\--

She was an idiot, a complete and utter idiot. Why did she do that? Why did she say those things to him? _You’re a bit like my dad; he’s dead_ … what a stupid thing to say. She had made a fool of herself and for what? A little extra time to spend with Sherlock Holmes? Molly sighed as she leaned against the wall outside the lab. She never should have said anything; she should have stopped when he asked her to.

But it was true, he did look sad. _You can see me. –I don’t count_ … she didn’t. Not in the grand scheme of things. She was just the person he complimented to get his way. She knew it, she let it affect her, let it hurt her, but she still let him get away with so much. It was a bit pathetic really, to love someone so much but to know they could never possibly love you back.

She did see him though. Beneath the veneer of coldness and disregard to social niceties, she saw the man who just wanted to be accepted by the people he surrounded himself with. She saw the man who had hidden his emotions so far below the surface that when they did emerge, it was like a breath of fresh air to know that yes, he may not seem like it but Sherlock Holmes was human.

\--

_How did we get here?_

_Well I used to know you so well, yeah_

_How did we get here?_

_Well I think I know_

\--

Molly stared at the television screen. That couldn’t be right. It had to be a joke. Someone was playing a cruel and unusual joke on them all. Her hand, shaking slightly, reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile. She swallowed hard trying to block out the constantly changing pitches of

_Did you miss me?_

_Did you miss me?_

_Did you miss me?_

She jumped and let out a small scream as the door to the morgue burst open. Her phone clattered to the floor and her eyes grew wide when she saw who was stalking toward her.

“Molly, are you okay?” he asked hastily, gripping her arms with his large hands.

“I-I thought you were leaving. What’s going on?” she asked wildly, freeing herself from his grasp, not caring that she could see John, Mary, and Mycroft behind him, and threw her arms around him. She could feel Sherlock tense slightly, before slowly returning the gesture.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I hate not knowing,” Sherlock said confidently, though when Molly looked up, she could see the uncertainty in his eyes. His eyes, no matter how hard he tried, always betrayed him. She turned her attention the others in the room, and grinned a little sheepishly before moving to step away. Sherlock allowed her to turn, but kept one arm firmly around her shoulders as he addressed his brother.

“I want Molly’s security level upped to as high as you can possibly go. If this is really Moriarty, he’s going to know she helped me fake my death and he will go after her.”

Molly rest her head against Sherlock’s side, breathing in as she savored the moment, not knowing how long it would possibly last, or if it would last. “You’re going to stay with me for a few days. Just until we can be sure,” he said turning his attention back to her.

“What? No. That’s really not necessary,” she replied hastily, stepping out from under his arm. As much as her conscious screamed at her for declining, she knew it was ridiculous to leave her flat.

“Molly, I insist. Just a few days. You’re irritating cat can even come.”

“Miss…” Sherlock shot Mycroft a dirty look, “ _Doctor_ Hooper, for once I am agreeing with my brother. Until we can get your residence secure, it would be in your best interest to reside at Baker Street. I assure you it would take no more than a few days,” Mycroft interjected.

Molly chewed on her lip for a moment, looking back and forth between the Holmes brothers. “Just a few days?”

“Just a few days…” Sherlock replied gently, or as gently as he was able.

Groaning a little she rolled her eyes, “Fine. I just have to grab stuff from my flat and get Toby.”

“Excellent. Mycroft, get some men, I’m sure you have plenty to spare, to run by her flat and make sure everything is okay, we’ll be there in twenty minutes. John, Mary, I know you’re flat is secure so you are welcome to return there, but be on guard,” he warned before turning to Molly and ignoring the stunned looks on John and Mycroft’s faces.

Sherlock noticed the television had returned to normal and he reached around Molly to shut it off. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked gingerly. She noticed he hesitated slightly before raising his hand and brushed a piece of hair that had fallen from her ponytail to behind her ear, his large palm resting against her cheek.

If someone had asked Molly three or four years ago if Sherlock Holmes had initiated such a movement she would have laughed it off while secretly hoping that one day it would. Her lips twitched into a small smile at the sincerity of the question. “Yeah I’m okay. Just startled me. You don’t really think he’s back do you? I mean, he did put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger…” she trailed off, not knowing what to believe at that moment. It all just didn’t make sense.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes as she felt him lean forward and press his lips to her forehead. Today was definitely that day.

\--

_Do you see what we've done?_

_We've gone and made such fools of ourselves_

_Do you see what we've done?_

_We've gone and made such fools of ourselves_

\--

Molly slammed the door to her flat shut before sagging against it. Her anger deflated quickly as she returned to the place she had decided to keep regardless of living at 221B for the past few months. She and Sherlock had decided to give it a go almost a year ago and now, now she wasn’t so sure.

They had fought before. They had argued. She had made him sleep on the couch. He had stormed out of the flat always to return a few hours later after a quick jaunt around London calmed him down. But she had never left.

It was everything all mashed together into one big outburst of anger on both their parts, one insult too many, one time too many in leaving experiments lying around that were complete biohazards. It didn’t help matters that she had caught him in one of his bored tirades. His sulking about the flat, shooting the wall again much to Mrs. Hudson’s dismay, torturing his violin, Molly had snapped.

Pushing off of the door, Molly threw her keys onto the little table, shrugged her coat off, before going to the kitchen. She slammed the kettle down before staring at it and decided that something a tad stronger than tea was in order. Reaching up, she grabbed a glass and a bottle of red before pouring herself a healthy measure.

She loved Sherlock, she truly did, there were times however she wondered why she decided to actual make a go of it with him. She stared at the dark screen of her television, knowing the noise would block out her thoughts of what to do about Sherlock but she found herself wanting to think about him. It was all she ever did anymore. Swirling the wine around in the glass she found herself thinking back to when they first got together.

It wasn’t long after the Moriarty scare. Those few days spent at 221B had been eye-opening for the both of them. Even after the situation had been resolved and her flat had proved to be quite safe, she found herself more often than not, returning to 221B. It wasn’t until one night, about a month after their ritual had begun, she had walked up to him one evening and just kissed him. He had been shocked of course but had quickly given in.

Their first time together had come about not much longer after and of course it had been a bit awkward. But Molly could never have known how involved Sherlock would be. She knew he was an addict at one point in time, but it looked like he had found his new fix. She had no complaints there.

A sudden knock on her door had her staring over at it for a moment. She hadn’t bothered to check her phone and see if there was anything there that could suggest who was coming over but she sighed as another knock came. Setting down her glass, she got to her feet and opened the door. She almost instantly closed the door but a hand reached out to stop her.

“Please, Molly,” he said quietly. She looked down and closed her eyes. Nodding, she stepped back and returned to her living room. She heard him hang up his coat and scarf, the gentle click of the door closing behind him before he hesitantly followed her. She flopped back down onto the couch and looked at him.

“Why are you here?” she asked, picking up her glass again and not looking at him. He sat down carefully beside her.

“I…” Sherlock hesitated, he hated feeling nervous and out of control, but ever since Molly had truly come into his life, he had allowed himself to feel more. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I know I am a difficult man to live with and I am so grateful for all you have done for me and with me. I don’t deserve you and your kindness but I love you, Molly Hooper and I want you to come back home.”

Molly sighed. She really couldn’t stay mad at him as much as she wanted to be. “Just promise me something,” she said sliding closer to him on the couch. His eyes widened slightly and took her hand.

“Anything…”

“Stop shooting the walls before you give Mrs. Hudson a heart attack?”

Sherlock laughed, cupping her cheek before leaning forward and kissing her soundly. He thought that was answer enough.

\--

_How did we get here?_

_Well I used to know you so well, yeah yeah_

_How did we get here?_

_Well I used to know you so well_

 

_I think I know_

_I think I know_

\--

Molly rubbed a hand over her face as she tried to ignore Sherlock’s pacing around the flat. He had been at it for days, only stopping to grab something to eat from her plate, to occasionally crash on the couch, or when he had to use the restroom, otherwise it was constant pacing, whether he was on the phone or plucking at his violin. She didn’t know what had gotten into him. He had solved a case, or so she had thought, so there was no reason for him to be so bored so soon.

She looked at him expectantly over the top of her book when he shot her yet another nervous glance. “Out with it, Sherlock. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor and Mrs. Hudson won’t be very happy with you,” she said snappishly.

He gave her a withering look before kneeling down in front of her, his fingers tapping a rapid tattoo against his thigh. Molly jerked back for a second, startled at his sudden approach. She marked her page, dog-earing the corner, before setting the book aside and stilling his hand with hers. “What is it?” she asked quietly, eyes tracing over his unique face.

Sherlock’s face scrunched up as he mentally battled with himself. “I’ve been meaning to say this for a couple of days and wasn’t sure how to do it. I know you like that whole boring romance thing and I wanted to do something special because I’ve never done anything special for you before. I’ve never done anything special for anyone unless you count that horrible stag night with John as special but I don’t. I love you, Molly Hooper, more than I care to admit, more than I do admit. I’m not a good man, I don’t know how you put up with me or why, I don’t try to understand these things but I do know that I will do everything in my power, as much as I am capable, to make you happy. Will…will you marry me?” he said with the rapidity of one of his crushing deductions. He dug into his pocket quickly and pulled something out, setting it on her knee.

Molly stared at Sherlock, her mind swirling in an attempt to wrap around what he had just said. Never had she thought of him asking those four words, ever. She didn’t think he would want to. Despite them being together for a couple years, he still maintained that sentiment was unimportant. Of course, she still saw through the façade he created, especially when they were in public. It was moments like now, when they were home by themselves that she began to see more less of Sherlock Holmes and more of Sherlock.

She saw the little box with a simple, but elegant ring resting in the blue velvet. Her eyes lifted from the ring to his and saw the worry hiding just beyond the surface. Lifting her hand from his, she smoothed her fingers along his impossibly high cheekbones and around the curve of his ear before resting at the back of his head, her fingers buried in his curls. She pulled him toward her and kissed him open mouthed. She could feel a few tears trailing down her cheeks and did nothing to stop them.

Drawing back, she kept her eyes closed as she rest her forehead to his. “Sherlock, I don’t need hearts and flowers and fancy dinners to know you love me. So, yes. Of course I will,” she murmured drawing back further and opening her eyes to gauge his reaction.

The cheek splitting grin that spread across his face was well worth witnessing.

\--

_Ooh, there is something_

_I see in you_

_It might kill me_

_I want it to be true_

\--

It was a rare that Molly got a moment to herself while Sherlock slept. Sherlock rarely slept as it was so it was something special for her to stand by the window of their hotel room and glance over at the sleeping detective sprawled out on their bed. He looked so much younger, much more innocent than he did during his waking moments. She returned her gaze back out the window. She had no idea how he pulled off this honeymoon of theirs, she hadn’t expected it after the fuss he made when John and Mary had gone on theirs a few years ago, but she somehow suspected John and potentially Mycroft were behind it.

She had nicked his phone from him after the first day when he began texting Lestrade asking if the man knew of any potential cases where they were staying. She had firmly told him that this was not a working holiday and that he had better enjoy himself or she was going back to London alone. After sulking for a few hours, he had sobered up, wrapped his arms around her waist and maneuvered her back to their bed. She had rolled her eyes at that. Not even married a few days and he already knew how to win her over when she was mad at him.

She knew the risks of being Mrs. Sherlock Holmes, she knew how much danger she could potentially be in, how much danger he was always in, but none of that mattered to her. Molly had sworn in her vows that she would be ready to take on anything that came their way, even if it killed her.

“Molls, is everything okay?” came the exhaustion laced rumble of her husband.

She turned and looked back toward him. He had turned the side lamp on, something she hadn’t noticed in her thoughts as she stared out the window. Smiling slightly, she returned to bed and climbed in. She curled tight against him, her head resting on his bare chest, her leg draped over his. “Everything is perfect,” she replied, pressing a simple kiss to the side of his neck. She heard his intake of breath and loosened her grip on his as he rolled over and pinned her to the bed, his eyes shining in the dim light above her, before capturing her lips in a searing kiss. One way or another, whether literally or proverbially, this man would be the death of her, and Molly was perfectly okay with it.


End file.
